


will i be granted some form of an afterlife (or will i just cease to exist?)

by bigbraveboop



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: :/, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, F/M, Ghosts, Kinda, Memory Loss, Panic Attacks, idk im here for ghostbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbraveboop/pseuds/bigbraveboop
Summary: ❝Wilbur - Ghostbur, apparently - writes a book. He writes it with ink, scratching the quill onto parchment paper with ease, documenting what he shouldn't have to.Things I remember, by Ghostbur.❞⤷ Wilbur Soot is dead, and writes about when he wasn't.
Relationships: grrrrrr - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	will i be granted some form of an afterlife (or will i just cease to exist?)

**Author's Note:**

> i live :D  
> uhh dream smp stuff lmao because ghostbur is my new favourite person  
> idk i love him  
> also sally is a shapeshifting pirate i will not accept criticism 
> 
> title from memento mori by crywank!
> 
> \- elisa <3

Wilbur - Ghostbur, apparently - writes a book. He writes it with ink, scratching the quill onto parchment paper with ease, documenting what he shouldn't have to.

_ Things I remember,  _ by  _ Ghostbur _ . 

He jots down whatever comes into his mind, whatever flashes with every unnecessary blink. Grey fingers pick at a yellow jumper that does not fray, scratch against black jeans that do not mark.

The crisp smell of bread as he passed a building, someone there who made his heart warm. The great country he adored so, the flag evidence of blood spilt by martyrs. 

Being sat in warm candle light, his brothers huddled with him in mirth, gently slapping the younger with a teasing smile. Sparring with an older, losing, but grinning all the while. 

His son, His best friend, his love, his  _ father- _

His father. Wings. Great black feathers that wrapped around him and provided a comfort nothing else could. The ability to clutch onto that green robe in fear as… something loomed. Fiery cyan, glowing in threat as it shielded a child who shouldn't have to be. 

Those wings that protected him. Those wings that flexed as his father entered a room, that flexed as he entered  _ that _ room, that shielded a flash of light-

An explosion.

Wilbur flinches, noting his ink-stained hands and broken quill. He inches away from the paper, hands darting from the desk to his stomach, where he could swear there was a wound…

He grips the jumper, and the ink doesn't stain, but it doesn't need to. There’s already a stain there, deep and red and angry and so unavoidably present. 

Wilbur would inhale if he could, he’d exhale and try to calm. But his heart does not beat, and lungs do not expand, and his voice is coarse and causes an ache in his throat whenever he speaks for too long.

Something clears in his mind, and suddenly he is leaning over his desk breathing heavily if only to replicate the feeling. He releases the iron hold he has on his jumper, hand coming away clean, and yellow jumper remaining clean, stainless, pure yellow. 

He clutches the broken quill, dipping it into ink again and writing once more.

He writes of the feel of the wind blowing through his hair, absent now in his present form. Salt, the sea,  _ Sally… _

That wonderful woman. Ginger curls that bounced on her shoulders as she laughed, with pink dusting her face as she and Wilbur would sit together with the moon as their only light. Wilbur misses her so.

He remembers her, and his son. His son, Sally’s lovely boy…

Wilbur writes, and then he pauses again. He blinks and his mind clears of everything for a moment, the sheer emptiness of his mind rendering him shaking as he writes down one last note.

_ I don’t know. _

  
  



End file.
